


Sunday Trilogy, Part 2 - Sunday Afternoon

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-22
Updated: 2003-01-22
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: An examination of one part of Walter Skinner's psyche





	Sunday Trilogy, Part 2 - Sunday Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Sunday Trilogy, Part 2 - Sunday Afternoon

## Sunday Trilogy, Part 2 - Sunday Afternoon

### by Raven

**DISCLAIMER:**  
The characters within these stories belong to Fox, 1013, CC et al. There is no profit made or intended from these stories, and they should be considered as being for entertainment purposes only. 

FEEDBACK greatly appreciated as long as it's friendly. Life's too short to waste it on flames. Thanks. 

More of my stories can be found at the Sinful Shack right here: <http://gaby.slashcity.tv/>

XxXxXxXxX 

Walter sighed softly as he drew out the brush. He was thinking, despite his best intentions not to do so, not now. But he couldn't help it. As he placed the necessary items on the bedside table, Mulder filled his mind. Thoughts of him, thoughts about him, images of the younger man swirled past, too quickly for him to do anything but watch them shift and change. 

Mulder, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes glacial and cool as his opinion was dismissed. Mulder, hands on hips as he glared hotly at a "superior". Mulder, hands up and out, beseeching, understanding. Mulder, hands in fists, eyes desperately focusing on nothing when he spoke of anything too personal. 

Skinner would have sighed again but he was lighting the candles now, and didn't want to ruffle the flames. He noticed the bare hint of sandalwood fragrance, their subtle yellow glow filling the room and, after ensuring that he'd missed none of them, allowed himself to get lost again. Lost in Mulder. He wondered, as he stripped almost idly, at how the words "lost" and "Mulder" seemed to go together. 

Lost in Mulder. Lost with Mulder. Lost because of Mulder...I lost Mulder. 

He paused, the swift, sharp ache racing through every part of him, making him shudder once, violently, before closed eyes and a firm breath pushed it away. He was dealing with that, had dealt with it, would deal with it. But not right now. No, not right now. 

Walter was soon naked, and he put his clothes away carefully on the chair. He reached for the small bottle of oil in its warmer, checked to make sure it wasn't too hot, then poured some into one broad palm. A vague hint of almonds reached him, as the oil sparked soft and pale in the low light. 

Normally, he would have simply rubbed his hands together, then applied where needed, but this was not normal. No, this was a moment for luxuriating, for decadence, for reverence and appreciation. For supplication. 

He turned a bit, facing the mirror a little more directly, but not truly looking at himself, not yet. He was aware of bits and pieces, a flash of lightly tanned skin here, the shadow of a muscle there, a hint of red highlighting threading through body hair. But he wouldn't really look, see everything, until he was finished. 

He raised the cupped palm to his chest, allowing the oil to dribble down of its own accord, letting the slow splashes catch on the soft curls of his chest, the ridge of breastbone, the flat nub of a nipple, before almost tenderly soothing it into his skin. He didn't rub it in, that would have been too efficient and impersonal. Instead his hands were caressing, lovingly coating his flesh with the warm shimmer. 

His slick, sure fingers found the swell of biceps, teased the under curve of his pectorals, followed the line of his abs and back up to ghost over his ribs. He reached again for the bottle, adding more oil, this time using his palm to find the swell of his calf, to tickle the hollow at the back of his knee. Walter gave a breath of pleasure as he traced a languid series of figure eights on his sensitive inner thighs. 

A few more minutes and he was coated, his body aware of a slow-simmering arousal, ready for more. Walter tilted his head back, drinking in the sensations, eyes closed as he began to let go, to turn loose, to transform into someone else entirely. It was time. 

He raised his face to the mirror, eyes roaming appreciatively over his reflection. The body he'd worked so hard for, the body he now worked even harder to keep, was highlighted in gold and vanilla, the skin luminescent with life itself. He watched the pulse in his throat, the way his chest moved with each breath, the play of muscles as he swallowed. 

His groin was heavy with blood, a delicious weight between his legs. His backside was taut, the muscles refusing to quiver in either fear or anticipation of what was to come. His back and shoulders were a glorious sculpture, down to the deep dimples at the base of his spine. 

As his eyes slowly roamed back up to his face, he had no choice but to smile. 

Dark chocolate brown met hazel, and Mulder's smile was as loving as his own. From his seat propped against the headboard of their bed, his partner spoke softly. 

"Now. Now you see what I see, what I've always seen. Do you love him, Walter? Can you look at that man in the mirror and love him as much as you used to hate him? Can you?" 

"Yes." It was barely whispered, but the word lifted them both, raised them above the past and the present, eased them that much closer to the future. 

Mulder said nothing, but his smile was like the sun on a perfect day in spring. Turning, he picked up the hairbrush from the bedside table, kissed the back of it almost respectfully, and reached out his hand for his beloved. 

**THE END OF PART 2.**   
  


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